"That's right," agreed Mr. Vardon. "And an accident at night,
especially when most of us are asleep, is not so easily handled as when
it occurs in daylight. So slow her down, Dick."

The motor was set to take them along at thirty miles an hour, and they
descended until they were fifteen hundred feet above the earth, so in
case of the Abaris becoming crippled, she would not have to spend much
time in making a landing.

Everything was well looked to, and then, with Dick and Mr. Vardon
taking the first watch, the others turned in. And they were so tired
from the rather nervous excitement of the day of the start, that they
were soon asleep. Dick and the aviator took turns at the wheel, and
attended to the necessary adjustments of the various machines.

It might seem strange for anyone to sleep aboard a moving airship, but,
the truth of the matter was, that our friends were realty worn out with
nervous exhaustion. They had tired themselves out, not only
physically, but mentally, and sleep was really forced on them.
Otherwise they might not have slumbered at all.

It was shortly past midnight when Dick, who, in spite of his attempts
to keep awake, had partly dozed off, was suddenly aroused by a howl
from Grit.

"What--what's the matter, old boy?" he asked. "In trouble again?"

There came another and louder howl. "Where is he?" asked Mr. Vardon,
looking in from the pilot-house.

"I can't see him," Dick answered. "Can he be out on deck?"

A moment later there was a flash as of lightning, within the cabin, and
Grit mingled his howls and barks as though in great pain.

"Something's wrong!" cried the aviator. "Look about, Dick, I can't
leave the wheel. We seem to be going down!"

The young millionaire sprang up and leaped toward the place where he
had heard Grit howling. The next moment Dick laughed in a relieved
fashion.

"Where are those rubber gloves?" he asked.

"Rubber gloves?" repeated Mr. Vardon.

"Yes. Grit has gotten tangled up in the little dynamo that runs the
headlight, and he's short-circuited. He can stand more of a shock than
I can. I want to get him off the contacts. Where are the gloves?"

The aviator directed Dick to where the insulating gauntlets were kept,
and in another moment Grit was pulled away from the contact. He had
been unable to move himself, just as when one grasps the handles of a
galvanic battery the muscles become so bound as to be incapable of
motion.

Fortunat